Prologue
I heard the bell above the door jingle and continued wiping down the table. The diner where I worked was located at a truck stop, so I got decent tips, but this also meant there were tons of creepy men who hadn’t seen a woman for God knows how long. That’s why I didn’t even bother looking up. I figured it was probably a regular who’d sit in their normal spot and holler when they wanted me.
Damn, was I wrong.
“Can I just sit anywhere?” My hand stopped going in mindless circles, and I glanced up—and up and up—before finally landing on two big hazel eyes. He was breathtakingly broken. His face and body were slender, not in an athletic way but almost like he hadn’t eaten in a while. He had to be well over six feet tall. I wasn’t short, but I had to crane my neck to look him in the eyes. He looked at me, a smile curving at the edge of his lips, but it went away just as quick as it appeared. Like a phantom, a hint of what could be.
Happiness.
His face was etched with pain and concern. Furrowed brows and a smile that went away before it took its full shape. I should have run in the other direction, but I was captivated by him.
“Oh, yeah sure! Anywhere’s fine,” I said a bit too loudly. I watched him walk over to the corner table and pull out the chair, the metal legs scraping against the scarred, damaged floor. He sat down, stretching out his long legs in front of him. I snatched up a menu, pulled down my black apron that did absolutely nothing for my figure, and walked over.
“Here you go.” I placed the menu in front of him, and he continued looking down at the table. I wanted his eyes on mine again so I could see the colors of brown that seemed to mirror everything about him.
My mother always said I was a thoughtful child, always looking and analyzing everything. This man intrigued me. Part of me wanted to pull up a chair and ask him questions about why he looked like he had lived his entire life. I knew he couldn’t be much older than me, yet he held the weight of the world on his shoulders. It was in the way he hunched over, in his eyes that held so much but never focused on anything. Except mine, albeit briefly. There was something there. The lines on his face that I wanted to trace. Something in me knew that they weren’t from old age, but life. Somehow, I knew it wasn’t kind to him. While my life wasn’t perfect, his seemed to be far worse, by just the way he carried himself and the clothes that hung off his body. I was intrigued.
“What would you like to drink?” I tapped my foot and tried to shift back to my job and remain professional. This place wasn’t professional in the least, but I prided myself on my maturity, so acting like a ditzy teen wasn’t in my wheelhouse.
“I’ll have a beer and the fish and chips.” He picked at his nails and placed his entire order while staring at the table in front of him.
“Wait, you’re old enough to have beer?” I leaned in and whispered. Maybe those lines at the corner of his eyes were his age. He let out a laugh that rumbled from his belly and lingered in his throat. I blushed and crossed my arms across my chest, realizing he was joking.
“Kidding. A Coke.” Finally, a full smile spread across his face. Gone was the troubled look. The smile made him look like a teenage boy. I let my own smile spread across my lips.
I’d love to make him smile like that every day.
“But I will take the fish and chips,” he added.
“Coming right up.” I tried to steady myself on my feet when he finally looked at me. Golden speckles swirled in his eyes. At the base of his nose and tops of his cheeks were freckles that brought out his youth even more. He wasn’t just breathtakingly broken, he was simply breathtaking. I took a deep breath as I turned on my heels and walked away.
“An order of fish and chips, Jim.” I tore the slip out of my pad and hung it where Jim, the cook, could see it.
“You all right?” He raised an eyebrow and motioned to the man sitting in the corner. “You know him?”
“Nope.” I pulled down a glass and filled it with ice and Coke.
“You looked at him like you knew him.” I pulled a straw out of my apron and tore all of the protective paper off but the top. I jammed it in the glass and looked at Jim. He was old enough to be my father, and when I was here, he always looked out for me.
“Sometimes people just have that impact on you.” I shrugged. “It’s his eyes,” I muttered.
Jim laughed. “Okay there, with your romantic mumbo jumbo.” I looked up at him just as he leaned close to me and bulged his eyes. “What about mine. What do you see?”
I giggled and swatted his arm. “A cook who needs to make some fish and chips!” I wiggled my finger at him.
“Right away, ma’am!” He saluted me and headed back further into the kitchen.
Knowing that I had to bring over the drink, I gave myself a little pep talk.
“You can do this. It’s just a boy who just happens to make you all mushy inside. You’re a teenager. It’s natural.” Sometimes I had to remind myself that I was a teenage girl and crushing on someone was okay. I didn’t typically do normal teenage stuff. I was so focused on my grades and saving my money for college that I didn’t party or anything like that. With a nod, I took the soda and made my way back into the seating area. My feet stuck to the floor, and I cursed whoever worked before me and didn’t mop. The suctioning sound was like nails on a chalkboard as I walked.
Finally making it to his table, I placed the drink down in front of him.
“Thanks.” He ripped off the top of the paper covering the straw and took a long sip. I watched his lips wrap around the straw. His large hands gripped the cup. Was there anything about him that didn’t make me want to bat my eyes, twirl my hair, and giggle?
“Everything okay?” He raised his eyebrow, a slight glint in his eye.
And shit, I’ve been standing here and staring.
“Sorry.” I turned to walk away.
Run. Save whatever bit of pride you have left.
“Wait.”
I sucked in a breath and turned around.
Ask me my name. My phone number. My astrological sign. Anything.
“Can I get that order to go?” He shuffled in the chair, averting his gaze.
And I scared him away with my creepy staring.
“Absolutely.” I put on my best smile and marched to the kitchen, the sound of my shoes sticking to the floor filling the silence.
“Make that fish and chips to go, Jim.” I ripped down a container.
“Easy there, killer.” Jim took the container from me, and I glared at him. Jim backed away from me with his hands up in the air. “Just give him your number.”
“Why would I do that?” I scrunched up my nose. He was intriguing, sure, but I hadn’t ever really dated. I tried it a few times at Ava’s—my best friend—push, but no one kept my interest. I was trying to fly through my senior year and go off to college, hoping that somewhere along the way I’d just stumble upon someone who would be it for me. Dating and making small talk? Staying up all night to text, and waiting for phone calls? That wasn’t my scene. I stayed up late to read and do homework, not wait on a boy to call me.
“Because.” He batted his eyelashes. “His eyes,” he said dramatically.
“Oh, shut it!” I finished packing the bag for the order.
I walked over, my feet dragging. I didn’t want this stranger to leave. I wasn’t accustomed to this, the feeling I had when he spoke to me for the first time. Maybe Jim was right and I should give him my number. Yet I wasn’t the type to hand out my number to anyone, or even tell someone I liked them. That was left for Ava. I wasn’t shy in the conventional sense; I just hated putting myself out there because that opened the door for rejection.
As I made my way to his table, he stood up, reaching his hand out for the bag.
“Here you go. Enjoy,” I said with a perfect smile. He handed me a twenty-dollar bill.
“Keep the change. Thanks again.” He turned to walk away.
Don’t let him go.
“Wait!” I called out and rummaged through my apron pockets for my pad of paper. Quickly, I scribbled down my name and cell phone number.
“Here. In case you wanted to hang out sometime.” I handed him my number, my heart beating erratically in my chest. I was glad I had the apron on, because if not, I was pretty sure he’d be able to see it. He looked down at the paper.
“Rainey,” he said. “That name suits you.” He didn’t say anything else. No promises of calling, or “thanks, here’s my name and number too.” He left, the door jingling, then slamming behind him.
I looked back at Jim, who shrugged.
With a sigh, I grabbed the mop and pail and started on the floors. I was proud of myself for doing something out of my element. It would likely lead to nothing, but that was okay. I’d stepped out of my comfort zone, and I was proud of myself for that.